


Purgatory for beginners

by xenia_che



Category: Being Human (UK), The Almighty Johnsons
Genre: Andres being Andres, Crossover Pairings, First Meetings, Happy Ending, Hell and Heaven talk, John Mitchell Angst, M/M, cliches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 07:13:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18244970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenia_che/pseuds/xenia_che
Summary: For GatheringFiKi SpringFRE prompt 40: AddictedProbably, that’s what they have the most in common. Though Mitchell hurls all effort into being human, he always fails miserably. Andres never even tries and fails nevertheless.





	Purgatory for beginners

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lerratheone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lerratheone/gifts).



> It's a birthday present for my fantastic soul-sister and chief muse Lerra!  
> You are the best, darling <3

Mitchell is bad. Period. He is bad at being a decent person, a proper friend, an okay coworker. He is even bad at being a vampire, crying his eyes out every time he takes a life. He just sits there with his hands and lips stained crimson, a dead body lying in front of him, and sobs violently, until the hiccups comes. He is pretty good at getting rid of bodies, though. Probably, it’s his only talent. That and pouring beer with no head.  
  
In fact, Mitchell is so bad that they even kicked him out of Hell. Twice. So, it’s not surprising, that when Mitchell meets Andres with his sharp tongue, cruel words, icy eyes and warm hands, he perceives him as a punishment and gladly takes whatever Andres has to offer.  
  
Mitchell knows that all bad people must go to Hell, and for once a Catholic boy he is not too keen on the idea of Purgatory.

 

* * *

 

“I can’t give you anything but death and destruction.” says Mitchell pinning Andres to the door of his apartment, Mitchell’s thigh between Andres’ legs and his fingers in Andres’ hair. “I’ll ruin you and everything that you hold dear. I don’t want to but that’s exactly what will happen.”

  
“Sounds like a plan.” Andres grins and captures Mitchell’s lips in a dirty, open mouthed kiss.  
  
For a moment everything goes quiet, but then Andres shoves Mitchell with both hands, breaking the kiss, and for a second Mitchell can almost hear Heaven bells ring.  
  
“Hurry the fuck up.” calls Andres, unlocking his door and shrugging off his jacket. He turns around and looks at Mitchell with a smirk. “Do you need an invitation or something?”  
  
Hellhounds pick up the trail.

 

* * *

  
Andres knows he is bad, and he wears it like a badge of honor, like a service medal, like a red _A_ on his chest. He is bad at being a son, a brother, a boss. A decent human being.  
  
Probably, that’s what they have the most in common. Though Mitchell hurls all effort into being human, he always fails miserably. Andres never even tries and fails nevertheless.  
  
So, when Mitchell comes along with his startled hazel eyes, his martyr attitude, sharp fangs and this gorgeous Irish lilt, that makes Bragi go all Disney Princess in the back of Andres mind - Andres is game. Since being game is actually the only thing he is truly good at.  
That and forgetting how the polarity and magnet poles work.

 

* * *

  
“I’m the worst thing that could’ve happened to you and you will regret inviting me into your life when I paint it with crimson and pain.” whispers Mitchell while Andres trails messy kisses down his bare chest towards his hard and heavy cock.  
  
“Jesus fucking Christ, I’ve managed to pick up the biggest drama queen in Auckland.” grumbles Andres, tearing himself from Mitchell’s lean body and lifting himself up. “I think I know what we should do.”  
  
Before Mitchell can protest, Andres arranges himself above him, his proudly standing cock right in front of Mitchell’s face.  
  
“What? It will shut you up.” shrugs Andres and Mitchell heaves a sigh but obediently opens his mouth.  
  
And with Andres cock between his lips, feeling how it repeatedly thumps the back of his throat and hearing all those gorgeous noises that Andres makes in his pleasure, Mitchell does forget for a moment about the monster curling in his chest.

 

* * *

  
They are bad for each other. Mitchell needs to be a villain in his story, a monster who kills and enjoys it, who lies, betrays and seeks out death with the same determination he seeks out his next victim. Mitchell needs a savior, someone to grant him absolution, to lock him up in a cage and be strong enough to throw away the key despite his empty promises and false tears.  
  
Andres is not that kind of god.  
  
Bragi adores Mitchell the same way he adores Shakespeare’s sonnets, Homer’s Iliad and Dante’s Hell. And sometimes the same way seven dwarves adored their Snow White (pre-apple period, Bragi isn’t really interested in comatose people). Andres, in turn, is addicted to Mitchell’s mouth and the way he always burns the coffee. But Andres doesn’t really do _love_ or _relationship_ or anything, actually, that involves two people spending time outside the bed. He despises attachment and devotion, he disdains affection and attentiveness. The very notion of domesticity makes him gag and feel nauseous.  
  
Mitchell, once invited, doesn’t really leave.

 

* * *

 

“You’re so fucking tight.” growls Andres, pounding into Mitchell’s body with heavy thrusts. “I love how you stretch around my cock.” he leans down, licks a stripe on Mitchell’s neck, tasting the sweetness of his skin, noses his hair, smelling this wonderful mixture of pheromones, Mitchell’s cheap aftershave and his own super fancy cologne. It’s driving him positively mad with desire.  
  
Mitchell arches of the bed, buckles his hips in time with Andres’ thrust, his moans harsh and oh so delicious. Andres bites his pale neck, torments tender skin between his teeth in a sorry excuse of a vampire bite, and Mitchell comes undone with a drown out groan and nails digging into Andres’ shoulders.

 

* * *

 

  
Andres doesn’t need Mitchell in his life because Andres doesn’t need anyone. He has made himself with Bragi’s voice, his brothers’ resentment and a bit of a natural talent.  
  
He likes expensive things, easy conquests and taste of good vodka first thing in the morning. He likes changes, girls’ tits and _no commitment_ policy that every one night stand implies.  
  
One day Bragi points out (in this absolutely insufferable manner of his) that Andres hasn’t really had any of those things for quite a while.  
  
After a week arguing with a Norse smartass in his head, Andres is forced to admit that he might actually like holding hands, bickering over forgotten dishes and Mitchell’s cock more.

 

* * *

 

  
“I wish I knew how to give you up. How to stop being addicted to your indifference.” says Mitchell one evening, when they are laying on the sofa in Andres’ living room, limbs tangled and mouths almost touching.

  
“I wish you knew how to shut up! Stop indulging the god in my head, I’m trying to watch a movie here.” grumbles Andres and makes a show of tossing and turning so he can face the TV, that is currently stuck on some lousy music channel.

  
“Maybe Mike could kick me out of your life.” continues Mitchell, ignoring Andres’ words, and rearranges himself, so now his head is on Andres’ laps and Andres’ fingers are lazily stroking his curls.

  
“If my brothers could get rid of you, they definitely would’ve done it by now. You’re here not for lack of them trying, you know.” Andres rolls his eyes exasperatedly, but even Mitchell can hear amusement in his voice.  
  
It’s true, other Johnsons do loathe Mitchell with all their hearts. Even Ty who is actually a decent guy. Maybe he feels, that Mitchell isn’t.  
  
Mitchell himself suspects that Johnsons’ collective displeasure is the main reason Andres keeps him around.

 

* * *

  
At some point Mitchell does realize that this thing, this life that he proclaimed to be his personal Hell is, in fact, his Purgatory.  
  
Days go by and nothing really changes.  
  
Andres still whips him with cruel words from time to time, but it doesn’t feel like punishment anymore (in fact, it’s starting to feel more like nagging, therefore easier to ignore when it gets too much).  
  
Andres still fucks him into the mattress (or rides him, Mitchell doesn’t mind switching roles or surfaces they’re having sex against) almost every night.  
  
And sometimes they actually don’t have sex, just turn off the light and tangle their limbs, and Mitchell ends up with his mouth stuffed with blond hair, and then wakes up in the middle of the night being pinched by Andres for snoring.  
  
They do grocery shopping and cleaning together. They spend weekends on the beach and have late night movie marathons. Mitchell learns to distinguish Andres’ fishes from one another and Andres learns not to antagonize the grumpy vampire after a long shift at the hospital, filled with bleeding children and coughing adults (or the other way around).  
  
Some people might call it domestic bliss, but Mitchell has never been blissful and Andres despises anything remotely domestic. Bragi actually mocks them both by making Andres quote Christina Rossetti (fortunately, in small doses) for the whole week in a row. In return Andres spends next three days listening to Taylor Swift non-stop. Mitchell can’t help laughing at this internal war in Andres head, but obediently shuffles songs and plugs in chargers.

 

* * *

  
They are bad for each other but they are worse alone.  
  
Andres sucks at physics and doesn’t give a damn about polarity and magnetic poles. And the phrase _opposites attract_ has always terrified him, because it meant that he would end up with some baby-crazy prude with loving family and a giant cat named Mr.Whiskers.  
  
Mitchell doesn’t know what he is trying to hear in the silence of their nights: Heaven bells or Hellhounds’ growls. He has always thought that he’d be dead by now, a sad pile of ash lying on the ground in a dark alley somewhere in Bristol and not sitting at the dinner table in a fancy restaurant laughing at some crude joke made by a man, who doesn’t care how many people he has actually killed. Because vampires don’t get a happy ending.  
  
And he is right. Andres isn’t his happy ending. Because their life together isn’t really an ending. It’s a beginning.


End file.
